Not Me
by IceyRage123
Summary: "I'm not Jazz. That's the name you gave me, but I'm not him."


**Not Me**

Ratchet was looking over Sideswipe when he first noticed it, and would later smack himself on the head later, when he was alone in his office.

Sideswipe was complaining about his "bedside manner" when Jazz bounced in, dancing to a tune no one else could hear. Except, this wasn't the adult everybot knew and loved. He was dead, had been for over fifty years. This Jazz was his clone, about thirty Earth years old, a child, really.

Ratchet had taken a piece of the original Jazz's Spark to create him. He'd even given him the same protoform build Jazz had. Now he was raising the youngling with Mirage's help. Though if he wanted to be honest, having the psychotic, sword-wielding Special Ops mech take the kid on what he called "necessary adventures" A.K.A. disappearing to Primus-knows-where for weeks at a time was causing him to seriously reconsider this decision.

"Hey Jazzy," Sideswipe called, waving. Ratchet had looked over to greet him when he noticed the tiniest frown on the youngling's face. It vanished after a millisecond as he gave them the Spark-breaking smile only Jazz (original and clone) could pull off. He decided to let it go.

The second time was when Sam and his grandchildren came to visit. All the Autobots whom Sam had originally met, way back in 2007, were in the hanger with the family when someone (Ratchet recalled it being Ironhide) had the brilliant idea to introduce them to the young clone. Ratchet resisted the idea, remembering the youngling's face when Sideswipe had called him Jazz. In the end, it didn't really matter, because Jazz came in there, wanting to meet other children his (mental) age. Ratchet made note of his claws flexing just the slightest bit when Prime said his name. However, he, again, let it go.

The third and final time, he was in the medbay, wiping it down while Jazz sat on a berth, swinging his legs back and forth and humming to himself.

"Jazz, will you hand me that?" He asked, indicating the tool laying next to the kid on the berth. Immediately, the leg-swinging stopped and a look of pain flew across his face before being replaced with a blank expression. He handed the medic the tool before hopping off the berth and leaving, mumbling about being late for sparring practice with Mirage.

That last incident more than anything is the reason he's standing behind the kid, watching him as he's sitting on the beach, just out of reach of the waves, staring at the stars. Ratchet remembers another Jazz doing the same, back on Cybertron, when the war seemed unwinnable. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind (it still hurt too much to think about it), he moved closer to the youngling as quietly as he could, which frankly had nothing on an Ops mech, even one in-training.

The kid had turned around before Ratchet had taken three steps, smiling faintly. He patted the ground next to him, which relieved the older mech. Evidently he had forgiven and forgotten what had happened in the medbay.

"Hey, sparklet," He said, gears groaning in protest as he sat. He noticed the smirk Jazz was doing his best to hide. "And what are you laughing at?"

"Nothin' really."

"Uh-huh."

"Really, Ah swear!"

They're both laughing now. The kid's isn't the baritone Ratchet was used to hearing, but it was getting there. A couple more vorns and he'll be just like Jazz...

"I want to talk to you, sparklet."

"About what?" He was looking at the stars again.

"About how you seem uncomfortable when people say your name." Jazz clenched his claws a second, then relaxed just as quickly. "That's what I'm talking about, right there. Why do you do that? You never have before."

"Jazz isn't mah name." He replied quickly, harshly. Ratchet raised an optic ridge.

"What do you mean? Of course it is."

"No. Ah mean-Ah mean Ah'm not Jazz. That's the name ya guys gave me, but that's not me. Ah didn't choose it. Not like ya got to." He flicked up his visor and looked Ratchet in the optic.

"Ah know regular sparklings come from the Well of Allsparks. Ah know you got to choose your name, and everyone else did, too. But not me. Ah know Ah'm a clone. Ah read your medical files you have on me and the first Jazz," he adds at Ratchet's shocked look.

"What Ah want to know is, why? Why didn't you let me choose? Did ya really miss 'im so much ya needed to create another just like 'im? Do-do ya even recognize me as mah own bot?"

Ratchet just stared. A freaking sparkling had managed to silence him by asking questions he couldn't even begin to answer, mostly because he didn't know how. But dammit, he has to try. If only for the kid's sake.

But first, he had to find out his name, the one he chose for himself.

"Before I answer, I need to know what to call you." The youngling looked surprised, but then a slow smile spread across his face.

"Bassline." Ratchet considered it a moment, then smiled.

"Fitting." Then he dropped the smile. "It's true, yes. We missed Jazz. I realize that was selfish of everyone, myself especially, to...well, create you to replace him. And for that I'm sorry." Bassline dropped his gaze.

"You're sorry Ah exist?"

"No," Ratchet said, surprise lacing his voice. "Of course not, sparklet. I meant I'm sorry we expected you to be our new Jazz. That wasn't right."

"So ya do see me as a different person?" Ratchet paused a moment.

"I do now," He said carefully. "Now that I've seen you growing up. There are differences between you two."

"Like what?"

"I assume you know Jazz was in Special Operations?" Bassline nodded.

"Tha's why Mirage is trainin' me."

"And I still don't think it's a good idea," Ratchet muttered darkly. "Anyway, the job is very difficult, as you know. Jazz was very good at it. He had a...darker personality, I guess you'd call it, that made it easier for him to blend in with the Decepticons. He kept it hidden, putting up a cheerful front. I don't see that in you. You are a naturally happy-go-lucky sparkling."

"Couldn' that change?" Bassline asked, frowning. "Maybe Jazz was the same when he was younger." Ratchet shrugged.

"Maybe. I don't think so, though. I met him before the war. He had a strange vibe. I don't know how to describe it. But that doesn't mean he wasn't a good mech. He genuinely believed in the cause and did his best to keep everyone alive."

Okay, so he might have lied a bit. Jazz did believe in the Autobot cause, but he hated the war more and had tried to abandon it after finding what he called the "Information Highway" or something like that. He came back after the planet tried to absorb him, but Bassline didn't need to know any of that.

"Anythin' else?"

"Yes. Mostly minuscule, like the way you tilt your head to the right when you're confused about something. Jazz's always went to the left. Things like that. It may not seem like much, but it proves you're not a carbon copy of him." That made the youngling smile.

"Ya know, despite how weird it would be, Ah would've liked ta have met 'im."

"That would indeed be weird." Ratchet put an arm around Bassline, pulling him to his side. "Do you have anything else you want to tell me, anything you need to talk about?" Bassline began messing with the plating on Ratchet's arm, much like a human child would with a parent's sleeve. He was quiet for a minute or two, but Ratchet was patient. Finally, he began to speak.

"Ah heard one of the Minis talking. Don't know which one. Can't tell 'em apart. He didn' know Ah was in the room, none of them did. Ah was practicin' sneakin' around," Bassline explained, a hint of pride in his voice. It vanished as he continued.

"He said Ah shouldn' be alive. Said he didn' know why anyone could want me. He-he also said that you and Mirage only pretend ta care about me." Here, he looks up at his surrogate Creator. Ratchet felt a surge of rage, but managed to keep it off his face. Barely.

"What that 'bot said was a bunch of bullshit." Great. Now he was resorting to human curse words. "There are a few bigots who resent you, I'll admit that. But you can't pay them any attention, okay, sparklet? You have just as much a right to live as they do, more even." He tilts Bassline's helm back up to look at him since he had tucked his face into Ratchet's side.

"Mirage and I do love you, Bassline. Very much. Don't ever believe otherwise." The youngling's smile lit up his face, clearing away any doubt caused by that piece of slag of an Autobot. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Ratchet, hugging him tight. The medic responded back.

"Ah love ya too, Ratchet." Bassline let go and stepped back. "Do we have ta go back now?"

"Yeah. I think it's long past your recharge time anyway." _And I need to find those Mini loud-mouths and give them a new hole to breathe through._ Thankfully, Bassline didn't seem to realize there was another reason they needed to get back to base. Or maybe he did and just chose not to say anything.

They walked back in silence. Right before entering the base, Bassline stopped. Ratchet did so, too.

"What's wrong?"

"When are we goin' ta tell 'em?"

"How about tomorrow?" He nodded.

"Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good."

**A/N People always bring back Jazz without really explaining how it happened. I decided to try something different. I'd love some feedback. Oh, and sorry if he sounded like a stereotype. His accent is kind of hard to write.**


End file.
